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THE PREVIOUS 
ENGAGEMENT 

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 
FOR ONE PERSON 

Opus 28 



THE PREVIOUS 
ENGAGEMENT 

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 
FOR ONE PERSON 

Opus 28. 



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THE CHARACTER 

Ulysses Grant Hollister 



Copi/right, 19U* 1^20, 
By Percival Wilde. 
New material added and 

Copyright, 1922, 
By Peecival Wilde. 



©CI.D 60908 

iiW 29 192? 



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THE PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT 

In one of his writings Mr. Henry Arthur Jones speaks of 
the difficulty of avoiding the soliloquy. This comedy is a 
more or less flippant demonstration of some of the ways in 
which this may be accomplished. 

The living room of a modestly furnished bachelor^ s 
apartment in a not too fashionable apartment house. As 
is customary in such buildings, an interior telephonCy 
communicating with the outside world through the medium 
of the apartment switchboard, is fastened to the wall. And 
the occupant, rather extravagantly, has had a direct line 
telephone installed besides, and this instrument rests on a 
table. 

At the rear, a door opens on a hallway. At the right, 
another door opens into the bedroom. A third door, at 
the left, leads into a kitchenette, an excessively diminutive 
room almost entirely filled by the range. Next to the 
door of the kitchenette is the opening of the dumb-waiter, 
which, at intervals, can be heard making noisy trips up 
and down. 

In the main room, a large grandfather^ s clock, not 
running, as seen by the stationary pendulum, indicates 
five o*clock. The bright sunshine through the little window 
tucked into the left corner, the general quiet of the day, and 
an occasional sound of church bells in the distance go to 
show that it is Sunday morning. 

There is a pause. The occupant is asleep in his bed- 



26 THE PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT 

room, and a raucous snore is audible. Then, without 
warning, the dumb-waiter rope commences to lash the sides 
of the shaft vigorously and loudly. The snoring ceases, 
and the tenant, wearing a flowered dressing gown over a 
suit of pyjamas, enters from the right. 

He is thirty-one or two, and by no means a bad looking 
chap. And he yawns prodigiously as he pushes his 
tousled hair out of his eyes and opens the door to the 
dumb-waiter. 

HOLLISTER 

All right, all right ! I heard you. Send up the things. 
(The dumb-waiter rattles, and he produces two eggs and 
a quart of milk. He inspects the eggs carefully; then 
returns to the shaft) 

Hello! You there? Are those eggs the biggest you've 
got? {A pause) I don't believe those eggs were ever 
near a hen! They're humming-bird's eggs, that's 
what they are! (He closes the door of the dumb' 
waiter shaft noisily, and crosses to the rear door, which 
he opens. Between his door and the door of his neigh- 
bor's apartment, is a heap of Sunday newspapers. He 
selects his own, and, in the act of reentering his room, 
pauses to listen to his neighbor's movements) 
George! (He raps on the door) Are you up, George? 
. . . George, you're a pretty good skate, aren't you? 
. , . Well, have you any idea what's good for the 
morning after? {He listens) Oh, you know I never 
drink, but last night was different. There was a 
reason for it. {He listens again) No; no wine. Just 
whiskey. About five times three fingers. That was 
enough; more than enough! You know I'm not 
used to it. {A large collie comes barking down the halU 



THE PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT 27 



way. He interrupts his conversation to ''shoo'' the 

dog into his room) Get in there, Buster! . . . What 

did you say, George? {He smiles broadly) Well, 

to tell the truth, I needed my nerve last night: 

all the nerve I had, and just a little bit more. That's 

why I did it. . . . What's that? . . . Yes. . . . 

Yes. . . . Thanks. You're sure that'll fix me up? 

. . . Yes? Well, there's no harm in trying it. Thanks, 

George. {He reenters the room, closes the door, and 

goes directly to the interior telephone) 

Hello! Who's at the switchboard? JuHus? Well, 

Julius, go around the corner and get a bottle of 

ginger ale — domestic ginger ale and two limes. . . . 

Yes, Hmes. Send them up on the dumb-waiter. 

{He hangs up the receiver, but takes it off again as an 

afterthought strikes him) Wait a minute, Julius! 

What time is it? . . . You don't really mean it ! . . . 

That so? Thanks. {He hangs up, crosses slowly to 

the clock, and turns the hands to eleven thirty-five. The 

clock strikes three. He looks at it in an instant's 

confusion, then shakes his head, and sinks painfully 

into a chair. The dog, wagging his tail furiously, 

rushes to him. The young man takes the dog's head 

between his hands, and addresses him seriously) 

Buster, I'm a chump! You didn't know that, did 

you, Buster? {The dog wags his tail, but gives no 

other sign of assent) Well, I am! I didn't have 

the nerve to propose to a girl last night, even though 

I knew she'd have me; even though I knew that 

the moment I said, "Will you marry me?" she'd 

throw her arms around my neck and nearly strangle 

me! I got as far as her door, and then — then 



28 THE PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT 

I thought of her sitting in there on the sofa, with 
a sort of expectant look on her face, and the 
hghts low, and — and my knees began to shiver, 
and I thought I'd better have a drink first. So 
I had the drink — whiskey — plain whiskey, mind 
you, with nothing intoxicating mixed in it! Then 
I came back, and I didn't feel a bit better! — not 
a bit better than before! I didn't have the nerve 
to propose to a lamp-post ! So I had another drink — 
plain whiskey — and it didn't seem to help; so I 
took another; and another; and still another — 
quite a flock of drinks — until I began to lose count. 
(He pauses tragically) 

Well, you know I'm not used to drinking. Buster, and 
after half an hour of it I had enough nerve to pro- 
pose to the Queen of England! So I marched out, 
head up in the air, shoulders thrown back, and I 
was going to ask her to marry me, just like that! 
Not the Queen of England: the girl, you know. 
I remember that very well. But when I wanted 
to find her door again, I couldn't! I couldn't find 
her door. Buster! And it's really not a very hard 
door to find! {He smiles reminiscently) 
That's about the last thing I remember, Buster. 
I stood there in the street, and I reasoned the thing 
out for myself. I decided she must have moved — 
must have moved right after I took that second 
drink. I remember I said to myseK "This is so 
sudden!" you know, her moving like that. (He 
pauses, and raises his hands to his head with a groan) 
Buster, it's all a blank after that! — all a blank! 
I might have murdered somebody on the way home 



THE PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT 29 

— I don't know. I had nerve enough to do anything. 
I was full of nerve! Proposing would have been a 
cinch! But I couldn't find the girl! I couldn't find 
the girl! {The dumb-waiter rope rattles. He goes to 
it, appearing an instant later with the ginger ale, which 
he proceeds to pour into a glass, and the limes, which 
he crushes into it. He drinks it slowly) 
Awful stuff, Buster; awful. But it's good for Daddy. 
Here's to her! (He tosses off what is left in the glass, 
and searches among a large number of photographs 
which decorate the center table) 

This is her picture, Buster. Buster, this is Miss Ed- 
munds. Grace, this is Buster. {He shakes the dog's 
paw gravely) Grace Edmunds — isn't that a pretty 
name? But Grace Edmunds HoUister is prettier, 
isn't it.f^ If I ever have the nerve to ask her! 
\_From some nearby apartment come the strains of the 
^* Toreador Song,*' atrociously rendered on a broken- 
winded phonograph. He listens, humming the air, 
but suddenly breaks off to bring his fist into his palm 
with a resounding thump. 

Say, Buster! {He disappears into the next room, re- 
turning in an instant with an old-fashioned cylindrical- 
record phonograph) First aid to cowards, Buster! 
{He sits at the table and writes hurriedly) Buster, 
how do you spell "tendency?" With an "a" or with 
an "e"? {He smiles) But it really doesn't matter, 
does it? {He reads over what he has written, sets the 
phonograph going, clears his throat impressively, and 
speaks into the horn) 

Grace — may I call you Miss Edmunds? No! You 
know what I mean: Miss Edmunds — may I call 



30 THE PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT 

you Grace? I am thirty-one years old, high-school 
education, perfectly healthy, except for a tendency 
to water on the knee; I have a good position, good 
prospects, no relatives living, can support a wife, 
belong to the Baptist Church, and love you ! Will 
you marry me? Respectfully yours, Ulysses Grant 
HoUister. {Stopping the phonograph) How's that, 
Buster? {He resets the instrument: starts it going 
again) 

THE PHONOGRAPH 

A-hem! A-hem! 
HOLLiSTER {interrupting) 
I never said that! 

THE PHONOGRAPH 

Grace — may I call you Miss Edmunds? No! You 
know what I mean : Miss Edmunds, may I call you 
Grace? I am thirty-one years old, high-school edu- 
cation, perfectly healthy, except for a tendency to 
water on the knee; I have a good position, good 
prospects, no relatives living, can support a wife, 
belong to the Baptist Church, and love you ! 
Will you marry me? Respectfully yours, Ulysses 
Grant Hollister. How's that. Buster? 

HOLLISTER 

Fine! {He allows the machine to run a few seconds 
longer. Then, very expressively) Thank you, dearest ! 
I knew you would ! {He stops the phonograph, fastens 
on the wooden top, and goes to the interior telephone) 
Hello! Hello! . . . Julius, I'm sending a phonograph 
down on the dumb-waiter. . . . What? . . . A phon- 
ograph: a talking machine. I want you to take it 
right around to Miss Edmunds. . . . Yes; of course 



THE PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT 31 

you know where she Hves: I've sent you there before. 
. . . Give it to Miss Edmunds herself: nobody else 
will do, and tell her to play the record right away. 
. . . Yes, the moment she gets it. What? . . . 
Does she like music? {smiling happily) Well, 
she'll like this selection! . . . No; it's not grand 
opera: it's something better. Live and learn, 
Julius; live and learn. (An afterthought) I'm send- 
ing down half a dollar for you, Julius. Keep it. 
(He hangs up, waltzes gaily to the table vyith the phono- 
graph, and deposits it on the dumb-waiter) Don't drop 
it, Julius! (He sitSy and takes the dog's head between 
his knees) 

Were you ever in love. Buster? Well, try it! It's 
great! {He pauses) Julius is just starting now. {He 
walks the length of the room twice, very deliberately) 
Now he's reached her door. {In dumb show, he times 
Julius* movements. He climbs imaginary steps; 
rings an imaginary doorbell; waits; shifts an imaginary 
phonograph from one hand to another; rings the bell 
again. Finally the imaginary door is opened. He 
explains his errand to the maid; declines to give her the 
phonograph; will give it to Miss Edmunds personally; 
waits in anticipation. Enter Miss Edmunds. He 
bows and scrapes; delivers the imaginary phonograph 
and message; grins; exits, descending the imaginary 
flight of steps after closing the imaginary door) 
Now she's got it ! {A pause, accompanied with suitable 
dumb show) She's playing it! Will she say "Yes?" 
{He leans over and picks objects from the dog's pelt) 
She loves me; she loves me not; she loves me; she 
loves me not; she loves — {breaking off) This 



I THE PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT 

would take too long, Buster. {He takes up the photo- 
graph) Allow me to introduce the future Mrs. 
HoUister! {He waits at the telephone) Getting im- 
patient, boy? Well, so am I! Now, all together! 
One! Two! Three! 

{The interior telephone rings sharply) Ah! {He takes 
dovm the receiver) Hello! Julius not back yet? No? 
. . . Well, what do you want? {He turns to the dog) 
A lady to speak to me? Who is it? .. . Eh? I 
expect it? She says I expect the call? Put her on. 
{He does a war-dance at the receiver) 
Hello! . . . Yes, right here, dearest. . . . Dear- 
est! .. . What? . . . You were surprised? Well, 
I don't wonder! Most any girl would have been 
surprised under the circumstances! . . . You must 
have thought I was crazy! . . . Ha! Ha! You 
did? . . . {In immense surprise) What? . . .What? 
You — you thought I had been drinking? How 
could you tell? {Utterly bewildered) Oh, of course 
I remember, but tell me about it again. . . . Yes, 
I like to hear it. . . . Eh? ... I dashed into your 
house — dashed into your house last night? . . . 
Yes, I hear you quite plainly. ... I asked you to 
marry me? ... I kissed you twice? . . . Cer- 
tainly! I wouldn't forget that! How could I? . . . 
And then? ... I gave you a ring and I rushed out 
again? . . . Well, I'm jiggered! {He turns to the 
dog) Buster, she accepted me last night, and I didn't 
know it! {Turning again to the telephone) Yes, 
dearest? . . . Oh, I can't tell you how much! . . . 
More than that! . . . Oh, much more than that! 
Why, I love you more than . . . {The second tele- 



THE PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT 33 

phone rings) I love you more than . . . {The tele- 
phone continues to ring) Just hold the wire a minute ! 
{He takes up the second telephone) 
Hello! What? Who is this? {Thunderstruck) 
Grace? But it can't be Grace! . . . What? . . . 
{With sudden coolness) All right, I won't call you 
by your first name if you don't want me to. . . . 
Yes, I sent it. I sent the phonograph. . . . No: 
no: it wasnt a fool thing to do {Emphati- 
cally) I say it w^a^n'f a f ool thing to do ! . . . What? 
You were never so humiliated in your life? What 
do you mean? . . . {After a ghastly pause) Well, 
how was I to know that you would set the darned 
thing going before a roomful of people? {Indignantly) 
Ithought you'd have more sense than that! . . . {In- 
terrupting) I'm not impertinent ! . . . But look here, 
Grace . . . yes. Miss Edmunds . . . I'm listening: 
yes, listening. . . . What? ... to me? . . . {With 
sudden craftiness) If I don't apologize — apolo- 
gize humbly you'll never speak to me again as long 
as you live? {Looking at the other telephone) Hold 
the wire! . . . Just hold the wire a minute! {He 
rises, takes up the collection of photographs, and de- 
posits one next to the telephone over which Grace has 
been talking. He approaches the other telephone, and 
examines the remaining photographs. He is absolutely 
unable to select the proper one. He hesitates: the un- 
certainty is awful. Then, resolutely, he takes up the 
first receiver) 

Hello! . . . Yes, dearest. Only a business call. . . . 
No, not important, but it's a nuisance, isn't it? 
{He listens) Oh, I can't begin to tell you! ... I 



34 THE PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT 

love everything about you! Your eyes! Your lips! 
Your hair ! {With trepidation) Even — even your 
name! . . . Yes, I love it! {Violently agitated) 
Let me hear you say it yourself! . . . Yes. . . . 
What? . . . Oh, it's a whim of mine, but I love to 
hear you say it! . . . Yes? . . . {He listens with 
fearful anxiety. Then, vnth sudden and overwhelming 
relief, surprise, joy:) Ethel ! {In the wildest of 
raptures) That's the best news I've heard in many 
a day! . . . Oh, don't mind what I'm saying. I'm 
excited. . . . Listen: listen, Ethel darling: I'll 
be over in five minutes! . . . You'll be ready? . . . 
Fine ! Goodby, dearest ! {He hangs up, rises, 
selects one of the photographs in his hand with obvious 
satisfaction. The others he throws away contemptu- 
ously. His eye lights on the other telephone. He grins; 
takes up Grace's picture; compares it with EtheVs to 
Grace's obvious disadvantage. Then, in the most 
leisurely manner, he seats himself at Grace's telephone) 
Hello! Miss Edmunds? . . . You're w^aiting for 
me to apologize? . . . Well, I do apologize. I apol- 
ogize most humbly. I made a mistake. . . .{There 
is an appreciable pause) No; not to-day. . . . 
nor to-morrow . . . nor the next day. You see, 
I'm dated up for some time to come. 
[He pitches her picture into the wastebaskei. 

THE CURTAIN FALLS 



